three minutes. More important work lies ahead.'
BACK by the shattered bridge, Commander Dadren had completed first-aid upon The
Shadow's wounded shoulder. Though not serious, the wound had bled profusely. The
Shadow had held up despite the weakening from loss of blood. The crash; an injured
leg—those had been added to the wound.
Endurance had failed at last. Commander Dadren, realizing the amount of blood that his
rescuer had lost, was amazed that The Shadow could have kept on to the bridge. As he
stared at the pale features which counterfeited those of Stollart, the commander was due for
more astonishment.
The Shadow's eyes began to burn. Dropping his right hand to the ground, he thrust his form
up from a reclining position. He reached his feet and began to limp on his weakened leg.
Despite the pain, he delivered a soft laugh.
Resting his arm upon Dadren's shoulder, he raised his right hand slowly and pointed off
through the trees. Dadren began to object. The Shadow would not listen.
'Come!' ordered The Shadow, in a quiet, steady tone. 'Take up the trail.'
WITH Hildrow, in Washington, The Shadow had lingered while playing the part of Stollart.
The trip to the island, once begun, had required a full hour because of its winding, changing
course and the bad roads encountered.
More time had elapsed at the cottage. There had been another interval after the crash. A
clouding sky was bringing dusk when The Shadow and Dadren reached the end of the
jagged road and stumbled to a better though little-traveled highway.
To the left was the way by which The Shadow had come with Hildrow. That was the road
which the plotter must have taken. Despite the time lost by the changing of a tire—The
Shadow and Dadren had seen the old shoe lying near the jagged road—Hildrow must by
now be nearing the capital.
Instead of taking the course to the left, however, The Shadow, leaning heavily on Dadren,
urged the commander to the right. Again, The Shadow had made a clever deduction.
There were no houses along that road to the left. It was miles to the nearest habitation. Yet
Hildrow must have kept close contact with the secluded island. There was no telephone line
into Korsch's den, therefore, the contact point must be somewhere else close by.
Pete's arrival was a further indication of that fact. The man who had come in the sedan
probably had headquarters only a short way off. The road to the right offered the one
solution.
The Shadow and Dadren traversed half a mile. The Shadow was making rapid progress,
despite Dadren's protests. The road kept curving to the left; The Shadow knew that it must
miss the river, which twisted in the opposite direction. But he was looking for lights, not for
water. He spied them through the increasing dusk.
A short bend had brought them into sight of an old roadhouse, which formed the center of a
little settlement. This must have been Pete's headquarters. The Shadow knew that a
telephone would be available.
As they plodded on, The Shadow spoke to Dadren. The commander nodded as he heard
the instructions. They were almost at a dilapidated garage when The Shadow gave his final
reminder.
'Call Marsland first,' he said, in a steady whisper. 'Then Releston. Then come into
Washington.'
'But you are not leaving -'
The Shadow stopped Dadren with a warning motion. They were close to the garage.
Standing in front was an antiquated roadster, that shook from the explosions of its running
motor. One light alone was gleaming from the front of the car. The driver had stepped into
the garage to purchase a new bulb.
'Proceed,' ordered The Shadow. 'Make the calls from the roadhouse.'
He shifted his arm from Dadren's shoulder and swayed for a moment. Dadren paused; he
caught the flash of The Shadow's compelling eyes. Nodding, Dadren turned and strode
along the road.
Shedding his weakness, The Shadow approached the roadster. Opening the door, he
moved noiselessly behind the wheel, drawing his weak leg in after him. He closed the door
softly.
The owner of the car had come from the garage, talking with the proprietor. The man was
holding the new bulb. He was about to step forward past the hood when The Shadow
jammed the car in gear.
The rattly roadster shot away from beside its astonished owner. Shifting rapidly to second,
The Shadow gave it gas. Then into high. Its one lamp blazing through the increasing
darkness, the roadster took the bend. Thanks to the twisting course of the road, The
Shadow gained a speed that a swifter car could not surpass if it came in pursuit.
EIGHT minutes after The Shadow had made off with the rickety roadster, Cliff Marsland
strode through the lobby of a Washington hotel. The firm-faced agent of The Shadow was
carrying a suitcase. He had received a call from Commander Joseph Dadren.
Reaching a parking space a quarter-block away, Cliff handed in a ticket. He stepped into a
mammoth roadster, a high-powered car of foreign make, and rested the suitcase in a wide,
deep niche behind the seat.
The motor throbbed. The lights came on. Cliff piloted the car to the street and headed for an
avenue. The huge car sped forward, noiselessly increasing its speed. Cliff smiled grimly.
This machine would roar when it reached the open road.
Cliff was on his way to meet The Shadow. He had heard the route from Dadren. He would
be on the watch for a one-eyed roadster that would be straining every bolt to gain its
topmost speed.
Then the transfer. With The Shadow, Cliff would head back for Washington. The Shadow
would be busy with the suitcase while Cliff drove. It was anticipation of that coming ride that
caused Cliff's smile.
For The Shadow, traveling to frustrate crime, would order speed. This car was built for rapid
travel. Whatever the game The Shadow had at stake, Cliff knew that the goal would be
reached in record time.
CHAPTER XXIII. HIGH WATER MARK
A SOLEMN group was gathered in Senator Releston's office. In this quiet room of the large
apartment, Releston was listening to comments that came from Vic Marquette. Harry
Vincent, also present, was puzzled by the situation.
'It's got me beat,' admitted Vic. 'I don't know which one of those birds was phony. It looked
like both. No Commander Dadren at the Navy Department. Nothing down at that siding in
Virginia. Fifty men on the job; they covered the entire territory around that station called
Alora. They haven't found the shack; not even the siding, for that matter.'
'We have been hoaxed,' agreed Releston. 'But I cannot understand what has become of
Stollart. Do you think that he has met with harm?'
'Probably,' declared Vic, 'The whole mess is black as ink. Tougher than anything I've ever
encountered. Suppose, for instance, that the first man here was really Dadren -'
Vic paused as Smedley entered. The servant had come to announce that Mr. Eric Hildrow
was calling. Senator Releston nodded.
